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Trigger Warning: There are some topics in this article that some readers may find unsettling or disturbing. Mental health is a large topic of discussion that isn’t always talked about, especially in minorities or in poorly funded communities. As someone who is a minority and has struggled with mental health; nothing was given to me or came naturally.
Growing up, I suffered from physical, mental, emotional, sexual, and verbal abuse. As someone who is bi-racial of two completely different minorities, I was not taken seriously. Not only did genetics take a part in my mental health but the environment I grew up in, influenced how I reacted and handled my mental health, these weren’t in positive ways as I learned to cope with my emotions.
At the age of ten, I had already lost a brother which took a large toll on my mental health, was bullied, and neglected by my biological father. He was constantly in and out of my life; giving me a horrible father figure to look up to. That messed up my mental health even without me knowing it.
At the time my mother did have a boyfriend who participated in raising me, however, he too wasn’t very present physically and emotionally. He tried his best, though, to raise two girls and be a father, especially to me.
Sometimes my biological father would manipulate situations in order to get his way; creating issues that never needed to be made. My mother was only 16 years old when she had me — my father was 17. Before he was 20 he already had three children (me being one). He neglected me, showing my other siblings more love, this wasn’t just how I felt, it was very much visible to outsiders and other family members.
I was “Daddy’s princess” because I craved the attention that I needed from my father, which gave me an unhealthy relationship with the opposite sex.
I was sexually abused at the age of 6 — not knowing what sex was or what it meant. I didn’t even know what was happening until it was already done. Accidentally, I witnessed my father having sex but not knowing what it was I stood there for a moment — not sure what to do — then I just walked back into my room.
This affected my mental health and my idea of what sex was. I never understood what happened to me; it wasn’t until I was much older that I knew what it was even called. Even with physical marks and blemishes on my body, nothing got done; People saw and did nothing.
By the age of 14, I lost the little family I had. My mother — who had to work and start over again with a whole new life — moved on rather quickly.
We didn’t have a stable home or income, on top of having a little baby to take care of while my mother worked. I raised my little sister while also going to middle school full-time. Sometimes I ran away just to go somewhere I could be alone, that wasn’t the best way to cope with my mental health but it was my way. But even, getting good grades and doing everything right just to get some type of validation, nothing worked.
My father also had another child, so I was often left at home with three siblings when he went out on weekends or weeks he was supposed to have us over. I cooked, cleaned, cared for kids that weren’t mine, and made sure to do all the chores I was supposed to do before my father got home. This also applied in my mother’s house — same thing: cook, clean, and care for the kids. I didn’t have a childhood.
I was again sexually abused by my aunt’s boyfriend’s son and didn’t tell anyone until he moved out. However, no one believed me; they called me a liar.
Even with getting straight A’s and caring for the house and kids, I was still told:
- I wasn’t good enough.
- That I am a liar.
- That I can’t do anything right.
- They called me fat and stupid.
- Said I have demons inside me, and that God would take care of me.
I prayed to God to kill me; felt that everyone in my life would be happier without me.
That was my mental health as a young girl. Even with trying to end my life, I still was doing it to make others happy. I knew my whole life I wasn’t wanted. My father abused me if I did anything incorrect to his standards.
I no longer called him dad; only sir. He abused my siblings and made us watch — whether in public or in front of the family — he always made sure that we did everything he told us to do, or else. I wasn’t allowed to talk to my mom or even have a phone. One time I tried to call for help; he made sure that no one came for me. It wasn’t until my mom came to get me and made him give me to her that I received help. She saw everything and had no choice but to believe.
With the bruises, slashes, marks, and even cuts from self-harm, my mental health was the worse it had ever been. She took me out and brought me to live with my grandparents until she found a home for us; which was the whole reason for me living with my dad for a while.
It wasn’t much into my 8th grade school year that they saw my “cry for help,” I finally said something to help my mental health. They called me into an office where both my parents came in and I had to tell them everything, of course, they didn’t believe some things and other stuff they just yelled at each other; blaming the other for what happened and how it messed me up.
I finally went into a hospitalization program where I was under 24/7 surveillance and was kept on schedule. There was group therapy and talking with a bunch of other girls about why we are there. Slowly I started getting better and after 3 months I was finally out to go back to school. It wasn’t the last time I would go to the hospital, ended up there at least four more times for my mental health.
I graduated the 8th grade and went on to high school; only to end up in the hospital again. Each time I felt like I was never gonna get better.
One time a lead group therapist caused me to have a PTSD episode and flashbacks, instead of helping me she blamed me. She said my abuse was my fault and threatened to sedate me and take me back “upstairs” to be locked away.
Eventually, I got over everything, with all the therapy and all I went through I stopped blaming myself and stopped holding in my feelings. At the age of 17, I was raped and given an STI, thankfully I was given medication and it went away.
Even though I still struggle with communicating my emotions and creating healthy relationships with people — and trying to grow up — I’m better today than I was yesterday. Because I am continuously growing, I’ll have an even better tomorrow. My mental health has never been better than it ever has.
Written by Zaylah De La Torre
Featured Image Courtesy of Psoup216’s Flickr Page – Creative Commons License.
Inset Image Courtesy of Ivan Radic’s Flickr Page – Creative Commons License.
